


It Starts with a Shirt

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, timeskip fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: In Tokyo for a pre-season break, Atsumu heads to the local courts with Shouyou for a little extra practise. Having watchedTobio's second advert for a pot of crappity curry, and now presented with Bokuto's billboard for protein bars, he's not in the best of moods. But that all changes when he offers to toss for Shouyou and asks for help from a passerby. The volunteer is smartly and unsuitably dressed for volleyball, but he's also someone Shouyou still holds in great awe.And maybe he can make Atsumu's day a little brighter too.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 10
Kudos: 249
Collections: Valentine's Day Lockers 2020





	It Starts with a Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows the same canon as 'a murder of crows', 'obnoxious' and 'Kintsugi' - it's not necessary to read them all to understand this, but you might want to. :D

There was something addictive about the advert, and despite the knowledge that watching it would cause not only laughter, but a churning of jealousy in his gut. Atsumu didn’t reach for the remote.

“HE’S EVEN WORSE IN THIS ONE!” he hooted to Shouyou.

“Huh? Who? What?” Shouyou stepped out of the small bathroom in their hotel shrouded in a large towel and rubbing his hair with another. “Oh, Kageyama, right?”

“Yeah, it’s another one of his big serve curry things,” Atsumu scoffed. “Gahd, that guy has no charisma whatsoever.”

“Guess he helps sell the product,” Shouyou replied mildly.

“Crappity noodles. Who needs ‘em?” Atsumu said, hoping he sounded light, but Shouyou was watching him out the corner of his eye.

“Not us!” he agreed. “What do you want to do today?”

“You mean we have nothin’ planned? No one to visit or have drinks with?”

“Free as a crow … or a fox,” Shouyou replied and smiled. “Sorry, have my friends bored you?”

“Naw, it’s just kinda nice havin’ a day off. An’ we were lookin’ up locations for ‘Samu yesterday, so that’s kinda down to me.”

“Then shall we just see what happens? Walk around the city. Maybe find a park and eat lunch there.” He wetted his lips. “Take a ball with us.”

“You are worse than me,” Atsumu cried. “This is supposed to be a break.”

“Well, yeah, but …” he murmured, flopping next to Atsumu. “There’s gotta be some courts close by.”

“There are,” Atsumu husked, and leaning over he took the towel and rubbed Shouyou’s hair, before pushing him gently back on the bed. “Or we could stay inside all day?”

“Ha … you’d be bored in an hour.” Shouyou laughed, wriggled away and sprang to his feet, not caring that the towel slipped precariously to the floor as he searched through a drawer for clean clothes. “Let’s go work up an appetite, ‘Tsumu.”

“ _Much_ worse than me.”

They jogged to the park. The morning already warm, Shouyou had tied his jacket around his waist, but sped up as they passed a billboard advertising protein bars.

“Hey, that’s Bokuto’s ad!” Atsumu yelled, slowing his pace.

“Haaa… yeah,” Shouyou replied, over his shoulder. “Right or left?”

“Hold on, we need a picture,” Atsumu said and reaching into his bag he pulled out his phone.

“You … um … don’t mind, then?”

“Huh? About Bokuto? Naww. Besides he looks kinda goofy, doncha think?”

Shouyou half sighed and shot him a look.

“Hey, he does! Like, I’m pleased for the guy if he wants to advertise that … brand, but he does look dumb.” He ran his hands though his hair. “I’d rather advertise somethin’ I believed in.”

“Like peroxide?” Shouyou laughed.

He ignored the barb. “‘Sides, I gotta help ‘Samu. Once he launches here, I’m gonna be the face of Onigiri Miya.” He twisted his mouth into a grimace. “Maybe.”

“Let’s get to the park,” Shouyou said and started to run again.

Atsumu stood, hands on his hips, protesting, “I ain’t jealous, y’know! Who wants their face on a billboard, or advertising a crappity pot of curry, when you c’n be on court and settin’ the most perfect toss?”

“I know,” Shouyou called back over his shoulder. “Now come and set that perfect toss to me!

And how could he resist that smile and that command. Leaving Bokuto in his wake, Atsumu picked up his pace, swerving through the crowd as he sought to catch up with Shouyou.

He wasn’t jealous. Not at all. Well … not really. Okay, so it bit at him that Tobio had managed to snaffle the curry contract—not that he was interested in it, but it was clear they’d wanted him because of his performance against France, and so hadn’t even considered Atsumu. But Bokuto becoming the face of a protein bar, well so what? He was a powerful guy and that was clearly the aim of the campaign and thank gahhd it hadn’t gone to Sakusa, or even worse Ushijima. Atsumu was too busy for all this shit, and if he were gonna put himself out for a campaign, it would not only have to pay well, but be something edgier than a fuckin’ noodle curry!

He’d passed Shouyou, heading straight into the park before hearing him call out.

“Courts are this way,” he called back. “C’mon, slowcoach. Don’t make me doubt your commitment!”

“Hey!” Shouyou sped up, soon overtaking him, to arrive at the outside courts with enough time to lean against the fence huge shit-eating grin on his face. “C’mon, slowcoach!”

“I do have the bag,” Atsumu snarked, and dropped it off his shoulders. “I could easily sulk and then where would ya be?”

“Practising alone,” Shouyou replied, sounding sad. “Did a lot of that at Junior High.” Then he perked up. “Or else pestering one of the Mum teams to toss for me.”

Not knowing what to say, Atsumu delved into the bag and handed Shouyou the ball. He’d not had Shouyou’s struggle, always having Osamu to practise with or a team. And sure, he often practised alone but that was because the others couldn’t keep up, or he needed to figure it out in his head, and not because it was enforced by circumstance. “I’ll go and see if we need t’ pay.”

It was a working weekday, the courts weren’t busy, so he booked an hour slot, figuring that they could grab a drink after, and pencilled in another for later that day if Shouyou wanted to (he would).

He returned to see Shouyou had already accumulated another ball and was stretching, his hat pulled down tight over his head, shirt hanging out of his shorts, and shades in place.

“Hey, this ain’t the beach,” Atsumu catcalled. “Tuck that shirt in!”

“I’d say ‘Make me’, but you probably would,” Shouyou replied, but he didn’t tuck the shirt in, instead he walked to the back line, bounced the ball on the ground, flicked the non-existent sand out of his trainers, and proceeded to start his run up.

“Your wrist action was off,” Atsumu assessed when the ball landed way out. “And you lost power.”

“I’m trying Oomi-san’s trick,” Shouyou said. “If I can get some spin on the ball, then the lack of power won’t matter so much.”

“True.” He pondered the viability of changing his own serve, but unlike the omnivorous Shouyou, his serving ability was largely down to accuracy and power, and it might not do to mess with that.

“Want me to receive that?” Shouyou called out, stepping away from the baseline.

“If you can, Short-stuff.”

“Ha!”

They kept up the serve and receive practise for at least twenty minutes, and just as Shouyou got a great dig in, not only receiving the ball but perfectly placing it to where the Setter would be, Atsumu heard a smattering of applause and realised they’d drawn a small crowd.

“Wanna hit my toss?” he murmured as he approached the net. “Give this lot somethin’ to really applaud?”

“Yeah, I’ll make a run from the back, okay?”

And he was so tempted to kiss him right there, seeing the corners of his mouth turn upwards and the light shining from his eyes. It might be a practise and not even a practise match, but Shouyou’s excitement and gratitude never failed to enchant Atsumu—utterly.

He turned to the group watching, opened his arms expansively and entered a plea. “Anyone want to help out? S’only two of us and I kinda wanna toss for my partner, but it’d be cool if someone could throw the ball to me from the side o’ the court.”

Several people shuffled their feet but said nothing, and now he spied the group close up, he could see it was mainly mums with young kids, or older people not in work, rather than grateful High Schoolers. But just as he shrugged and turned away with an ‘Ah well.’ a voice lilted towards them.

“I don’t mind helping.”

He span around ready to offer his thanks and was greeted by a tall, broad-shouldered man, maybe his age, but dressed in smart clothes, pale trousers and a bluey green zigzag pattern shirt. His hair was long too, but tied back into a loose ponytail. Atsumu blinked at the mannequin. The response that he was too smartly dressed to take part, however, didn’t fall from his lips, instead he stared closer. “Hey, do I know you?”

But the response was lost as Shouyou streaked up from the baseline. “Asahi-san!”

“Hinata-kun.” He smiled and gave a small bow. “I recognised that dash crosscourt for that last receive.”

“You’re the Karasuno guy. The Ace with the beard, right? Azu… uh … Azumane-san?”

He rubbed his hand over his clean shaven chin, a little self-deprecatingly. “I lost the beard last month and the Ace status a few years back, but yes, I’m Azumane. So … would you like me to throw for you?”

“Would hate t’ mess up ya threads,” Atsumu muttered. “And don’t ya have somewhere t’ be?”

“Ah, that’s fine. And no, I’m taking the day out.” Bending down he picked up a ball and then quirked a soft smile at Shouyou. “Rather like old times, eh, Hinata? Except I’m not beautiful like Shimizu.”

“I’m just pleased you’re there and not sending me flying with your spike, Ace-san,” Shouyou laughed.

“Ha … I saw you receive from Ushijima. I doubt I’d even cause you to brace.” He bounced the ball on the floor, then waited for Atsumu’s call.

It started off as a textbook training session, the balls sent perfectly to Atsumu so he could give the best toss. But after a while, Azumane started to play with the situation, and clearly enjoying himself, he sent one ball a little too far to the right, causing Atsumu to step into it, and then sent another short and low so he twisted around, bending at his knees so he could toss with his hands rather than arms. Shouyou spiked every ball, aiming for each area of the court, but then as Azumane got bolder, some devilment took hold and instead of spiking, he tossed back to Atsumu with a gurgling laugh and whooped when Atsumu powered it down to wipe the line.

“We’re so good!” Shouyou cried, and high fived him.

“Yeah, who needs an opposition?” Atsumu laughed.

“Any more?” Azumane chimed from the sideline.

“YEAH!” Shouyou yelled.

‘“Naw, we need to get off the court,” Atsumu explained, and tugged on Shouyou’s shirt. “I booked another hour for later, okay?”

“Ah, I guess.” He smiled up at Azumane who was rolling the sleeves of his elegant shirt back down his arms. “We’re going to take a break and have a drink. Will you join us?”

“If that’s all right with both of you,” Azumane replied, with a quick courteous glance at Atsumu.

“Sure.” He shrugged. After all, they did owe the guy. “I’ll treat ya.”

They ended up in an outside café Azumane knew, and where the waitresses knew him because they approached with plastered on smiles which changed to genuine warmth when they realised who the customer was.

“You’re popular,” Atsumu said when the drinks came along with three complimentary biscuits.

“Um, I come here quite a bit. It’s a good place to watch the world go by.” He sipped his iced tea, staring out into the distance. “You never quite know what you’ll dream up when you take time out.”

“I think best when I run,” Atsumu admitted. “Or chuckin’ the ball up into the air when lyin’ on the ground. Guess I need t’ be active.”

There was a silence, broken only by Shouyou crunching a biscuit and then he piped up. “I used to meditate in Brazil. Stopped me getting on the plane home once or twice.”

“Really?” Azumane asked. “I thought …” He caught his words, pondered, then finished. “I never realised you were a person with doubts, Hinata-kun. You were always so set on your goals.”

“Yeah, well. It was only twice.” He bit into the biscuit.

“I still wonder at you,” Azumane continued, his voice taking on a vague, dreamlike quality. “And Nishinoya too. Leaving the country, taking on the outside world.” He smiled at Atsumu, inviting a confidence. “I thought I was daring leaving Miyagi for Tokyo, but my kouhais… Volleyball taught us more than how to be a team. It taught us about individuality as well.”

“Mmm, true. Think I only ‘preciated that when I left Inarizaki ‘n ‘Samu weren’t with me.” He gulped down his tea, and feeling Shouyou’s eyes on him rapidly changed the subject. “I can’t remember what it is you do in Tokyo, Azumane-san. I swear Shou-kun’s told me, ‘cuz he talks about you guys a lot, but … uh… you’re doin’ well, judgin’ by the clothes. That’s a real cool shirt, by the way.”

“This?” Azumane plucked at his shirt sleeve and a smile lit up his face, not wavering or doubtful at all. “I work for a design house, in a junior capacity, but … um … this is one of mine. You really like it?”

“Yeeah, it’s cool. I like the colours a _lot!_ Amazin’ that you got into fashion after bein’ a player.”

“Um… why do you say that?” Azumane asked, crumpling a serviette in his hand.

“Jus not somethin’ I’d associate with volleyball. Like, how d’you get interested in that sort o’ thing, ‘specially havin’ played at your level?”

“Um … why does anyone do anything?” Azumane replied. “Interest, opportunity… maybe lack of in some cases.” He nodded to Shouyou. “Do you remember Takeda-sensei telling us we could do whatever we wanted. The opportunities were there and …” He swallowed and stared at his hands, a faint flush forming on his cheeks. “I was always interested in image and how the one presented can disguise how you feel. Clothes help, you see. But I guess it started with volleyball; I could pull on the number three shirt and I was someone.”

“Guess I didn’t need the shirt.” He pulled himself up short, Shouyou’s glance telling him that was rude, but he’d only meant it as a fact. “What I mean is…”

Azumane waved away the words. “I understand. You have an innate confidence in your ability. Maybe you always did.”

“Kinda understand what you’re sayin’, though,” Atsumu said. “Like, pullin’ on that shirt jus’ before we play is one o’ the best feelin’s.”

“Never get tired of that,” Shouyou said, and sighed dreamily. “Also the smell of salonpas.”

“The lights in the stadium.”

“The sound of the ball hitting the floor.”

“Or the crowd when we come on.” Atsumu laughed. “Hell, I don’t even care if they’re booin’ us!”

Azumane had been watching them both, his eyes flicking from one to the other as they chipped in with their match day reminiscences.

“Hearing your name called out by the commentators,” Shouyou continued. “It’s all … ahhh, never gets tired.”

“So it starts from the shirt, yes?” Azumane said, nudging the pair of them as they fell into silence.

“Mmm, I guess.”

“Bokuto goes apeshit at the stadium. He also goes apeshit seein’ the coach, turnin’ up at training, seein’ the ball, the net, the…” Atsumu grinned. “He’s apeshit all the time.”

Azumane didn’t laugh, not, Atsumu thought, because he didn’t find it funny, but because he was thinking of something else. Then with a murmur of apology, he pulled out his phone and began to tap a message into it.

“Sorry, he said after a while. “You gave me an idea and if I don’t get it down, then it disappears. Uh …”

He stopped speaking. Atsumu glanced at Shouyou, wondering of this was normal, and as he seemed content to sit there he waited for Azumane to continue.

“How long are you in Tokyo for?” he asked eventually, and put his phone down.

“’Til middle o’ next week.”

“I don’t suppose … you wouldn’t … no, I can’t ask. It’s not fair,” Azumane muttered into his hands.

“You c’n ask,” Atsumu said, frustration building, ‘cause where he came from, no one dithered like this. “We c’n always say no.”

“Oh… kay…” He took a breath, straightened his shoulders and adjusted his glasses, pushing them up to the bridge of his nose, and despite the smart clothes, glasses and lack of beard, he suddenly looked far more like the Ace who’d served so brilliantly against Inarizaki.

Atsumu swallowed down a swirl of excitement, and waited.

“I have a chance next month,” Azumane said. “It’s a promotion, sort of, which will give me an opportunity to … um … design a few of my own things. But … I need to sell myself, which has never been my greatest asset.”

“And you want our help?” Shouyou asked, looking confused. “Um, just believe in yourself, Asahi-san.”

“Ha … yes, good idea, but actually it’s more practical help I need right now. I have to make a presentation, and while I know the clothes are good, the concept has escaped me.” He licked his lips, and stared directly at Atsumu. “Until now.”

“Say what?”

“It starts with a shirt,” Azumane replied. “That’s the tag line. You said it, and … um … I wondered if you’d model for me.”

“Me?” He blinked in confusion. “I ain’t a model.”

“Kageyama’s not an actor but he got an advert,” Shouyou murmured, and he was grinning, nudging Atsumu with his foot.

“True, but … why me? Ain’t you got in house models?”

“Mmm, but they’re all … um … uniform,” Azumane replied, couching his words as his fingers made quote signs. “You have an attitude. And you’re recognisable, too.”

“Cuz I’m bad tempered.”

Shouyou laughed, and Azumane didn’t disagree, but did add, “I watched you today and was struck by your smile when you get caught up in the moment, and know what you enjoy. So … would you help out?”

“Uh… not next month, I can’t. We’re back in trainin’.”

“No, no, just a few shots for the presentation. I can’t pay you much, but … um … maybe a shirt or two. Expenses. Lunch?”

“Does he get to be on a billboard?” Shouyou demanded. “A really huge one.”

“Ah, no, but if that goes well, then who knows what could happen in the future.”

“He’ll do it.”

“Hey! What are you, my agent?”

Shouyou beamed at him. “Yup, I’m his agent. I want a shirt, or another iced tea as my commission.”

Azumane splayed his hands on the table, large hands, not ones Atsumu could imagine cutting fabric, or drawing designs, and yet … the shirt he wore, he’d made himself.

“I’ll let you think about it. Absolutely no pressure and you can of course say no. I’m impinging on your precious time and you don’t owe me anything.”

And Gahhhd, he was so nice about it. The absolute epitome of a gentle giant. No wonder Shouyou talked about him with both fondness and reverence. Azumane had even given him an opt out, a reason to say no because this was supposed to be a break, and his reputation for being difficult preceded him everywhere.

“How long would it take?” he croaked. “And when?”

“An hour. Two at the most,” Azumane said quietly, but there was the tiniest spark in his eyes. “And … um … today?”

“And I can get a shirt?”

“Two, if you want.”

“And one for me?”

“Naw, it’d be wasted on you, scruff-bucket. You don’t understand ‘bout tuckin’ stuff in.”

“I have tee shirts with graphics…” Azumane offered. “Are you still into manga, Hinata-kun?

“He is,” Atsumu replied with a smirk and stood up. “I guess that means I’m doin’ this. Only, I ain’t lookin’ my best right now.”

“Around two?” Azumane suggested. “It’ll give you a chance for a shower. If I give you the studio address, then I’ll meet you there.”

Expecting something large, open plan and lively, Atsumu couldn’t work out whether he was disappointed when Azumane showed them into a small plain room, with white flats along one wall, a black curtain dropping to the floor, and no windows, asking them to wait. Returning a short while later, he towed a clothes rail in with him, showing a row of shirts in a myriad of colours.

“These are all mine,” he murmured. “They’re similar in style, although there are some minor differences in material and details like buttons. The collar of the yellow one is wider… but I’m not sure it would suit you. Maybe the lavender? Or the turquoise?”

“Sure.” He didn’t bother asking where the changing room was, quickly taking off his t-shirt, and slipping his arms into the lavender, diamond-checked shirt first.

“Oooh, fancy!” Shouyou laughed.

“It’s soft,” Atsumu rubbed it between his fingers. “Is this silk?”

Azumane picked a camera out of his shoulder bag. “Mmm. It’s quite flouncy. You’d probably suit something more fitted, but … uh … can you stand next to the black curtain? I’ll check the light first…”

He’d expected Shouyou to get bored, to pull out his phone and tap on a game or check messages, but instead he watched with interest, asking questions of Azumane as he snapped away, and calling out encouragement and compliments at every pose Atsumu attempted.

“Hands in pockets,” Azumane instructed as Atsumu, now wearing a black and silver shirt grinned across at Shouyou. “Could you lean forward, let your hair flop over your face, and kind of look _up_ at me. No smile this time. Scowl or …”

Just then Shouyou pulled a face and Atsumu laughed. He heard the camera click, Azumane sigh, and then he went through the procedure again, even flicking his hands through Atsumu’s hair so it fell in the way he wanted.

“I didn’t know you were a photographer, Asahi-san.”

“Picked it up along the way,” he murmured, and tilted his head to the side. His eyes flickered back to Shouyou. “Hinata-kun, there’s a drinks machine on the third floor with an ice dispenser, too. Could you get me some ice, and then a can of something … um … iconic… recognisable, I mean?”

“Part of the image,” Atsumu asked, when Shouyou had scampered out of the room.

“Sort of.”

“And the ice? Are you plannin’ on makin’ me even cooler?”

“Could you frown like that again?” Azumane asked.

He did, and heard the camera shutter click several times.

“’Nother shirt?”

He licked his lips. “Mmm, try the red. Quickly, if you don’t mind.”

“What’s the ice for?” he asked again as he slid into the dark red shirt. It was tighter than the others, a little too tight maybe, but he buttoned it right up to the top as instructed.

“Uh… a ruse,” Azumane replied. He stepped forward, tweaked the collar of the shirt, then instructed him again. “Glare at the lens, will you?”

“Sure.” He gave a ferocious stare, wondering if it were too much but Azumane didn’t ask him to tone it down and carried on snapping. “What do you mean by ruse?”

“To get rid of Hinata,” he replied simply.

_Oh … OH_.

“Uh, why? Oh… is this another ‘chat’? Are you ‘bout to warn me off, or somethin’? Only I met Kozume and he tried. Kageyama’s been sarcastic and that Glasses guy … Like I get you’re all protective as fuck over him—”

“Warn you off?” Azumane looked up from the lens, lowering his arms “Not at all. You misunderstand. I … You look too happy when Hinata’s around. I wanted the edgy and angry you, not the cheerful one.”

“Oh … sorry, guess I’m a bit on edge.”

“Stressful meeting us all?” Asahi asked, pausing from staring through the lens.

“A bit. I guess. I’m … um … kinda not used to carin’ about the impression I make.” He pulled at the collar of the shirt, then undid a button. “Does that make me fake?”

“Hmm, not really. People are capable of having different facets and it depends which side you wish to show. My colleagues here know very little about my high school volleyball days. The opposition I faced would be surprised to find me following this career path, but I suspect no one from Karasuno is unduly surprised.” He raised the camera again. “You look better, less constricted with the button undone. Thank you.”

“Is that a metaphor?” Atsumu joked.

“Hum… not really, but I suppose it applies to us all.” Azumane gave a soft chuckle. “I don’t see you as someone who lives a particularly constricted life, Atsumu-kun. You say what you feel … rather like Hinata does.”

“Yeah.” Frowning ferociously at the camera, he saw Azumane to flinch, widened his eyes in astonishment, and then laughed. “I guess Shou-kun jus’ feels much happier ‘bout things, whereas I’m a pretty shitty person.”

“Who Hinata appears to like … very much.”

Azumane snapped another three pictures. “I think I can hear him coming back. Would you try the blue one again? And then I think we’re done.”

Shouyou bounded back into the room, clutching a cup of ice and a can of coke. Rummaging through a box, Azumane threw him a cellophane wrapped tee shirt, which he ripped open with glee, shook out and then pulled on over his head.

“One Piece, mighta known!” Atsumu said.

“Luffy is cool. This is great, Asahi-san. Thank you.”

“Add it to the twenty eight ya already have,” Atsumu sniped, in what was supposed to be an aside.

Azumane’s face fell. “Oh… I could give you something else.”

“No, this is—”

“I’m kidding!” Atsumu interrupted, hands in the air. “He don’t have twenty eight and he buys this sorta stuff all the time.”

“May I take a picture of you, too, Hinata-kun?” Azumane asked. “Together. Stand a little in front, so your hair contrasts with the shirt.” He clicked the camera, taking a few more and issuing the odd instruction, but soon let them be.

“Does that mean, I’m in the presentation brochure, too?” Shouyou asked.

“Um, no. I thought you might like copies. I’ll send them to you. Atsumu-kun, please choose whichever shirts you’d like. I think these are going to turn out very well, and I’m truly grateful.”

***

It was their first night back, a week before training resumed, and tired they decided neither could be arsed to cook, so they headed to the place they knew the food would be good, and not ‘efforty’, as Shouyou called it. Except Atsumu did make an effort, wearing his new blue and turquoise shirt, fitted so it showed off his broad shoulders, but not so constrictive he couldn’t breathe.

“Well, well, well,” Osamu drawled from behind the counter. “Don’t you look smart. Who am I talkin’ to?”

“Japan’s next top model,” Atsumu declared and twirled in front of him. “I look good, right?”

“Be better on me,” Osamu replied. “I c’n see myself borrowin’ that.” He leant over to touch, but Atsumu leapt back.

“Not with your greasy paws, scrub!”

“Hey, wanted to check the quality, that’s all! And my hands are clean!” he glowered at him, then with a grudging look gestured for them to sit at a table. “How d’you afford somethin’ like that anyway?”

“Told ya. I’m now a model,” Atsumu replied, flicking his hair.

“This true?” Osamu asked Shouyou.

Of course he’d ask Shouyou, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep up a lie. Ah well, it’d been fun to kid his brother for a while.

But Shouyou with not so much as a blink nodded. “We were practising in a park and he was scouted. Unbelievable right!”

“Really?” Osamu fished out his order pad. “What do you want?”

“Your speciality platter,” Atsumu decided, thinking that for once his wallet could take it. “Might as well celebrate our homecomin’ in style!”


End file.
